


Deja Vu

by tangerinabina_de_archanea



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe- Reincarnation, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Blood, References to Alcohol, Swearing, just two dads chilling and falling in love all over again... sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinabina_de_archanea/pseuds/tangerinabina_de_archanea
Summary: deja vu, noun. a feeling that one has seen or heard something before.There's something familiar about Byleth's coworker, but Jeralt can't quite put his finger on what it is.Then he remembers, but it still doesn't make sense.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth
Comments: 21
Kudos: 30





	1. Monday, 4:34 PM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NyeLung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyeLung/gifts).



> HEAR YE, HEAR YE, BEFORE YE GO ANY FURTHER: this is a sequel to my fic "After the Fact."  
> Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984964
> 
> HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY CASSIAN!! Thank you for being such an awesome and creative friend! I hope u had a wonderful birthday, and I hope u have a wonderful new year!! I'm so glad I met you <3  
> also thank u for inadvertently giving me the idea for your birthday gift RGHFOUDILKFJSDF

Goddess, it is _sweltering_ in the dingy little back parking lot of Garreg Mach Academy. It’s already a hot day, but add on the expansive swathe of asphalt with scraggly white lines laid down on top of it and it becomes unbearable. Jeralt is glad that they’d gotten the AC fixed in their truck, because otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for Byleth.

Well, he would, of course, because he isn’t going to make his daughter walk home from her new teaching job in the blurry heat of the Verdant Rain Moon, but he certainly wouldn’t be happy about it. 

Byleth emerges from the back door of the building after what seems like forever, accompanied by a green-haired man and girl. He’s probably the vice principal, if Jeralt remembers Byleth’s descriptions correctly, and that’s his daughter (whose picture, according to Byleth, is plastered all over his office walls, and has even managed to infiltrate the rest of the school’s main office as well). Even in this heat, he’s wearing a tightly buttoned, long-sleeved shirt and tie combo, with dark pants and impossibly shined leather shoes, and looks not the least bit uncomfortable. The SUV that Byleth follows him to is similarly uptight and formal, and much nicer than Jeralt’s old pickup. 

He looks kinda like a dick, to be honest, and a religious one at that, which is one of Jeralt’s least favorite types of people. With a smirk, Jeralt thinks that he probably listens to that one radio station that plays nothing but hymns to the goddess and “rock” songs that could barely be called that. Byleth obviously isn’t happy with him either, judging by the way she’s standing, with her hand on her left hip and all her weight shifted that way (she tends to do that when she’s mad- always the left, never the right).

Yes, Jeralt Reus Eisner hates him already on sight, and-

_There is light behind him. Almost blinding. He is in the sky, astride a wyvern, a lance in hand and blood on his cheek. This is one of the few times he’d actually seen him in battle, with his power, his skill, his centuries of wisdom and training in action._

_He looks like an avenging angel, like a saint, and then he dives, his lance flashing in the light of the setting sun._

The vision fades when the slam of the passenger door jolts him awake. Byleth is fuming, but it takes Jeralt a few seconds to realize she’s talking.

“Dad? Hello? Earth to Dad?”

“Huh? Oh, hey, By. How was work?”

“Work was fine, but Seteth told me I needed to stop dyeing my hair.” She tugs at a few strands of her hair, dyed in a blue to green ombre, for emphasis. “Ombres aren’t professional, he said. I don’t want to go prematurely green…” She keeps talking, but Jeralt’s focus is elsewhere.

_Seteth._

_He knew that name. He knew him. Intimately, romantically-_

When he looks up, Seteth is staring right at him from across the parking lot, the same look of shock on his face that Jeralt is sure is on his own. It’s a coincidence, isn’t it? It has to be.

“...and he said the same thing about me getting a side cut. I think I’m just going to go over his head and talk to Rhea at this point. She likes me, for whatever reason, so I think she’ll- ...Dad? Why are you staring at Seteth?”

“I’m just letting this pretentious asshole know that I’m watching him.”

“What? I have to work with him! Don’t make it worse! Come on!”

Seteth has already gotten in his car by the time Jeralt looks up again, and he nearly floors it as he leaves.


	2. Tuesday, 2:12 AM

Jeralt wakes up with a pain in his back that night. It’s sharpest during the Ethereal Moon, but during the rest of the year it simply aches and aches. No amount of physical therapy or meds have ever been able to get rid of it; instead, it just lingers, like a knife long lost in his flesh. 

_“The pain chases us even here, doesn’t it?”_

_There are arms around him from behind, hugging him tightly. Seteth’s hair tickles his cheek._

_“It’s bullshit, but that’s how it is.”_

_“My chest still aches where my heart was pierced.” There are gentle, calloused fingers on his bare back. “Your wound does as well, I assume.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Moments later, there are lips covering the pain, and then Jeralt turns to kiss over his heart._

_“Kiss it and make it better, huh? I guess if it worked for our kids, it can work for us.”_

The vision leaves Jeralt as quickly as it comes upon him. He’s half asleep and having dreams, he reasons. Weirdly tender dreams about his daughter’s boss. Weird dreams. 

He rolls onto his back so that those phantom arms can’t hold him any longer, and his sleep is restless. 


	3. Wednesday, 3:28 PM

Jeralt comes to pick up Byleth early on Wednesday, to whisk her away to her hair appointment that afternoon to bring it back to a natural green. Or blue. He’s not sure which, because she’s had both in her life, somehow going from blue to green overnight when she was 21 and spending the years following it fighting the color with box dyes and salon appointments.

“It is a matter of professionalism,” Jeralt hears Seteth firmly remark from his office, and then there’s Rhea interjecting with something about how Byleth should be allowed to do what she pleases with her hair. When Jeralt turns the corner all he sees is Seteth framed in the doorway of his office, his sleeves rolled up, surprisingly enough, and his arms crossed as he stands behind his desk. 

_“Here is your first assignment. I would like to again remind you that I advised against giving you such a command.”_

_Seteth passes the parchment to Jeralt, looking as if he’d much rather like to snap it back out of his hand instead._

_“Thanks,” Jeralt says sarcastically, and turns towards the door. “You folks are pretty welcoming here, you know that?”_

_“Hmph.”_

Seteth is staring at him through the doorway, and doesn’t protest again when Rhea says that perhaps Byleth should call the salon and cancel her appointment after all.


	4. Thursday, 8:22 PM

Jeralt tries to escape the thoughts by reminding himself who he is, and where he comes from. It’s been years since he brought out the old family photo albums, he realizes, when the dust on the top of the books, collected from all their time on the bookshelf, smudges on his fingers. 

He’s comfortable as he looks at pictures of himself growing up, and even at pictures of Sitri and him. It’s only when he finds Byleth’s baby pictures that-

_“This isn’t natural.”_

_“There is no need to worry, Jeralt. Your baby is happy and healthy.”_

_“How can I know that? She never makes a sound.”_

_Rhea rests her hand on the child, and he has to stop himself from slapping it away. “She is fine.”_

He nearly drops the book.

_Smoke. Flames. Rhea almost looks deranged._

_“She’s dead? Dead?”_

_He has to remind himself that his child is gone. He has to remind himself to play the part of a grieving father. He turns away from Rhea, too overcome with emotion to speak._

Slowly standing, he closes the photo album and starts pacing. There’s too much bubbling up at once, getting ready to boil over.

_The baby calmly laying in his arms as he rides away into the night, simply staring up at her father._

_Byleth as a toddler, wearing strange clothing and pointing out frogs before Jeralt scoops her up to ride on his shoulders._

_Byleth standing over a body, a bloody knife in her hands, yet no expression in her eyes. She’s a child, just a child, and yet she’s already had to kill someone._

_Byleth cutting her hair unevenly with a dagger, almost reminiscent of how she stands in the bathroom now with scissors and snips at anything she doesn’t want to brush the tangles out of._

_Byleth with a sword, crossing blades with her father, and almost, almost smiling._

_Byleth flirting with a woman at a tavern, then leaning forward to kiss her naively, unsure of what she’s doing but with plenty of enthusiasm, even as her expression stays blank._

_Byleth standing before three teenagers in uniforms, surveying them all with a sharp eye._

_Byleth speaking with Rhea as Seteth watches her with distrust in his eyes._

_Byleth crying._

_"To think that the first time I saw you cry...your tears would be for me.”_

“Dad, have you seen-?”

Her question is cut off when Jeralt hugs her tightly. “I love you, kid. You know that? Just remember that, By. I don’t say it half as much as I should, but I love you so, so much.”

“O-oh.” She’s genuinely startled by the sudden display of affection, and gives him a few awkward pats on the back before finally hugging him back. “I love you too, Dad.”


	5. Friday, 5:46 PM

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store always flicker above the pasta aisle. It’s been like that for years and they never bother to fix it. It doesn’t normally bother Jeralt, but today it gives him a headache, and so he follows his daughter down the aisle, his eyes mostly closed.

Byleth is dumping box after box into their grocery cart, silently and efficiently smacking them off the shelf in just the right way so that they land in the basket. The first time she stops is when she sees that they’re out of the macaroni and cheese in the shape of whatever popular children’s show character is plaguing the world at the moment, and the second is when she realizes Seteth and his daughter are staring at her from the other end of the aisle. Jeralt bumps into her, opening his eyes to see why she stopped, and then he sees Seteth.

_“Do they have any ale?” Jeralt pokes his head around the corner of the marketplace, so much like Garreg Mach’s but strange and empty. So many things in the afterlife are like this, with no coin, no merchants. Nothing._

_“Barely dead a day and already you seek out drink,” Seteth sighs. “They do.”_

_As he Seteth leads him away, Jeralt pauses to grab a vial of oil, miming paying an invisible merchant before turning back to Seteth. “Could be useful,” he grins, and Seteth flushes red before nodding, tight-lipped, and Jeralt pats him on the back with a loud laugh._

“Ugh, why is he staring at us like that?” Byleth’s voice brings him back, and he looks up to see Seteth staring at them from down the aisle, the same flush on his face as in Jeralt’s memories. “I swear, he’s got the worst stick up his ass.”

Jeralt nearly knocks another box of pasta off the shelf as he tries desperately not to laugh.


	6. Saturday, 11:56 AM

“Shit.”

No matter what he does, Jeralt’s pickup isn’t starting again, and it’s hot as hell outside. It was only a matter of time before it gave out, he knows, because it’s almost as old as his driver’s license, but he’d hoped it would have chosen a much more convenient place to die, like in the driveway, when he wasn’t stranded out on the side of the road.

A cloud of dust sweeps over him, and there’s the telltale sound of tires over gravel. Coughing, he waves dust away from his face and looks up to see who’s come to rescue- or to bother- him. 

Seteth is framed perfectly by his white SUV as he approaches, and Jeralt isn’t sure whether to groan or be relieved.

* * *

It’s awkward, sitting in the passenger seat of his car. He’s not sure how to tell this guy he’s never even spoken to that when he looks at him, he sees him writing at a desk in front of a stained glass window, he sees him astride a wyvern in battle, he sees him wiping sweat from his brow in a courtyard, he sees him gasping for breath on a bed beneath him-

Seteth is giving him that pointed stare again, and for a moment Jeralt hopes that he’s experiencing the same turmoil inside, but that couldn’t be possible. It would be crazy if they did. No, Jeralt himself is the crazy one, and he’s not going to say anything about that.

“Thanks for stopping,” he says instead, and Seteth turns down the radio (the religious rock music that can’t be called rock music that Jeralt predicted to a T) to reply.

“No thanks needed.” He looks unusually stressed right now, which is saying something, because Seteth always looks at least 50% stressed, and it’s a marvel that any further stress can stand out. “You’re Byleth’s father, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Somehow, that response makes Seteth’s lips draw even tighter, and he leans forward, clutching the steering wheel a little more severely.

“You okay?”

“Perfectly fine, thank you.”

For a moment, Jeralt reconsiders. Maybe he isn’t crazy after all, but for some reason, when he looks at him now and tries to remember something new, nothing comes back.


	7. Sunday, 10:06 PM

Jeralt isn’t drunk when he calls Seteth on Sunday night, but when Seteth actually picks up, he thinks that maybe he should be.

“Hello?”

“Hey. This is Jeralt Eisner. You know, Byleth’s dad.”

Silence. “Can I help you, Mr. Eisner?”

“Yeah, yeah. I need to, uh… talk to you about something. Can we meet somewhere?”

He’s crazy. He’s absolutely crazy for suggesting this.

“It is ten o’clock at night, Mr. Eisner.”

“I know. It’s important.”

There is an even longer silence on the other end. “Is this pertinent to your daughter’s work?”

“Yes,” he lies. 

“Very well. Where would you like to meet?”

Jeralt thinks for a moment. “The outlook above town.”

“That is rather.... secluded,” Seteth says doubtfully. “Why there?”

“This is a delicate topic. We need privacy.” There’s another long silence. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“I do, Jeralt,” he answers, almost too quickly, then sighs. “I’m going to come pick you up.”

“What? Why?”

“We can talk on the way there. It’s more efficient.”

Jeralt chuckles. “You never change, do you?” He realizes what he’s said and is about to try and fumble out an explanation, but before he can, Seteth speaks.

“Neither do you. I will be there in ten minutes.”

The phone clicks off, and Jeralt slumps back in the chair, sighing, but he’s not sure whether it’s in relief or dread. He wonders how much he can drink before Seteth gets there.

* * *

As it turns out, Seteth gets there in five minutes, not ten, and Jeralt doesn’t have a chance to drink anything, which he both regrets and knows is for the best. On one hand, he doesn’t think he can do this sober, but on the other, he can only imagine how horribly it could go if he was even buzzed.

They don’t talk on the way there. Seteth keeps the radio low, and his fingers drum impatiently on the steering wheel, and he glances over at Jeralt at each stoplight as if he’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep an eye on him. The air is unbearably tense, as if Seteth _knows_ what Jeralt is going to say, but won’t admit it.

When they finally get out, in a parking lot high on a hill, the wind ruffles their hair and clothing, and still they don’t speak for several minutes. The lights of the city below are almost blurry, but Jeralt supposes that it could just be because he needs glasses. Seteth wore glasses when he was driving, he noticed. He looks good in them.

“Well, Jeralt?” Seteth finally says after far too many minutes of silence crawl by. “I thought you asked me out here to talk.”

“I did.”

Seteth’s voice drops, almost to a whisper but not quite. “I assume this has nothing to do with Byleth.”

A car roars past, and Jeralt inhales deeply, the cold air a shock to his lungs, as if breathing is only a memory and not something they’ve been doing for the past forty or so years. “No, it’s not.”

“I figured as much.” He crosses his arms, giving him a sideways glance.

“This is going to sound crazy.”

“Go on.”

“I mean it. You’re going to think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Have no fear on that front. You calling me out here this late at night has already assured me of that fact.”

Jeralt isn’t sure whether to be insulted or laugh, but there’s an ill-repressed smile tugging at Seteth’s lips. Either way, it reassures him, and he takes another deep breath. “I’m having flashbacks to memories that I’m not even sure exist. Memories of us.”

Seteth exhales, but says nothing.

“I feel like I’m going crazy. Every time I see you, I remember something new, but when I try to piece it all together… I come up empty. But we were a couple. I do know that. I know it sounds crazy, but- Hey, Seteth, wait!” He’s already halfway to his car by the time Jeralt catches up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up, but come on, don’t leave me stranded out here. I won’t say another word about it-”

“Garreg Mach Monastery. Imperial Year 1181,” Seteth interrupts.

“What?”

“That was where and when we first met.” He opens the back door of his SUV, rummages for something, and then passes a folder to Jeralt. “And that is also the place you and I died.”

“Died?” Inside the folder are photocopies of ancient documents, what look to be religious records and lists of the dead and even diary pages. Slowly, they move until they’re directly under one of the parking lot’s lights, and Jeralt squints as he goes through it all. “What is all of this?”

“I have been having these same flashbacks, as you call them. Whether or not they are of the same events is debatable, but I apparently chose to be more proactive in solving that mystery than you did. All of these documents are seemingly identical to the scant memories that keep resurfacing. Tell me, what have you been remembering for this past week?”

“A battle. Us in a bedroom. You giving me some sort of assignment in an office. Us in-”

“A market?”

Jeralt nods.

“I suspected as much.”

“There were other things, too, but you weren’t there. They were about me, and… Byleth.”

“Perhaps you should read the diary pages. They are under your name, after all, and you speak of her a great deal.”

“Huh…” He flips back to the diary pages, ignoring the photographs of headstones that he just turned to. “If this is my diary, then how do you explain all of this?”

“I assume that these are memories from our past life, and, well, afterlife, resurfacing. I cannot think of any other reason that this would be happening.”

“You’re not suggesting some sort of reincarnation, are you? I don’t believe in that sort of thing.”

“How else can you explain the shared memories? How else can you explain…” He gestures to both of them. “All of this?”

Jeralt thinks for a moment, and his thoughts come up empty. “Well, shit. So say you’re right. What do we do from here?” 

“I don’t know.”

The diary is in his handwriting. He doesn’t even need to read the contents to somehow know what they’re going to say, and so he claps the folder shut. “Do we try to figure out more memories, or…?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats.

“What even _are_ we, then?”

Seteth doesn’t need to answer, because they both know what he’s going to say. More cars roar past, and the wind whistles, and the city glows. There’s no more memories, but there’s a sense of familiarity, and Jeralt gets another crazy thought in his head.

Impulsively, he places his hand on Seteth’s shoulder and turns to face him. Barely, almost imperceptibly, Seteth nods, but it’s enough, and Jeralt kisses him. It feels natural, practiced, as if they’ve done it before, and if the cascading memories in both their heads have anything to say, then they certainly have.

_“Take your shoes off. I do have standards, you know.”_

_“Really? I never would have guessed.”_

_Seteth looks so beautiful, smiling above him like that, and then their eyes meet. His head aches and he feels like shit, but when Seteth kisses him he forgets about that, even if just for a moment._

_There’s stars above them now, and they sit under a tree, his back aching still where he was stabbed what feels like forever ago._

_“You’re absolutely incorrigible. Won’t anything keep you quiet?”_

_“I can think of a few things, yeah. But where’s the fun if I tell you?”_

_Seteth laughs, but he’s taking too long, and so Jeralt tugs him forward by his shirt, and kisses him._

_There’s more, many more. Short ones, long ones, somewhere-in-between ones, and then there’s a last one._

_“Something is coming.”_

_“What’s that?” Jeralt looks up from his chair at Seteth, pacing back and forth._

_“I simply have a feeling. I am not sure what it is, but… things will change soon.”_

_“Hm. Maybe.” He’s going to wear a hole in the floor if he keeps pacing like that, he knows, and so he gets up and stops him one of the most effective ways he knows how. He kisses him._

Suddenly the memories fade into darkness, as if there is no more, as if those were their last moments in the other world before returning to this one. Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t. He can’t remember, but right now he really couldn’t care less, because there are much more important matters at hand.

Seteth steps forward, moving closer to him, and when they break apart neither speak, instead favoring looking out over the city lights, or at the night sky, the wind ruffling their hair and the parking lot lights above them buzzing.

“What now?”

“We should get to know each other as we are now. We are different than we used to be, I am sure.”

It’s a bit of a letdown, he has to admit, coming from someone who just kissed him, but he’ll take it. It’s practical. Just the sort of thing Seteth would suggest. “Sounds like a plan. See you around, I guess.”

“Yes… until next time.” Seteth turns and walks back to his SUV, but Jeralt lingers a while longer, staring out at the city beneath them.

A few seconds later, he realizes that Seteth is his ride. “Shit! Seteth!” He turns to see that he’s still waiting for him, leaning against the hood of his car with a bemused smirk on his face. “Oh, thank the goddess.”

“I thought you weren’t a religious man, Jeralt. I never thought I would hear you invoke the goddess’s name like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. You almost left me.”

“Did you really think I would do that? Someone has to take care of you.”

_“I’m fine,” Jeralt slurs, nearly tripping over himself. “I don’t need…” A hiccup interrupts him. “Help.”_

_“You may think so, but someone has to take care of you.” It’s the most affectionate Jeralt has heard his voice thus far, even if he’s scolding him, and Jeralt realizes that, even if he’s drunk, he’s in love with Seteth. Stuffy, irritable, overly responsible, caring, handsome, doting Seteth._

_“When are you gonna let someone take care of you, huh? Huh?”_

“You too.”

Seteth smiles, sincerely this time, and unlocks the car.


End file.
